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concrete poetry

a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i love to steal awhile away
pushing out, struggling vainly
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
leave the lovely words unsaid
were it not for that singular smell
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
as a naked man i go
in september
happiness
when a deed is done for freedom
i am fevered
city that is not a city
i have had one fear in my life

 



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